


Girl Money

by sarken



Category: The Closer
Genre: Bob (genre), F/F, Like a Lighthearted Episode, Minor Brenda Leigh Johnson/Sharon Raydor, Pre-Season/Series 07, Team Fluff, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:25:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16826980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarken/pseuds/sarken
Summary: In which Sharon gets a lap dance, the bad guy, and the girl.





	Girl Money

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I just wanted Sharon and Julio to go to a strip club.
> 
> Title from Kix.

The chief summons her first thing on Thursday morning, and Sharon takes her travel mug of coffee and bad mood with her to the ninth floor. It's not really _fair_ for her to bristle at the chief's tone -- God knows she isn't any less abrupt -- but she does anyway, and she walks into the murder room with a scowl.

From the looks of things, the division has been there most of the night. The detectives look tired and disheveled; the room itself is a mess. It smells faintly like pizza, and there's an empty doughnut box on one of the unused desks.

"Nice of you to join us, Captain," Brenda says. She's wearing the same clothes she had on at lunch yesterday, but has kicked off her bright pink shoes and left them beside Provenza's desk.

Sharon decides to cut her a little slack -- she hums in acknowledgement instead of snapping that if Brenda had wanted her sooner, she should have called her at home. She pushes the empty bakery box out of the way and sits on the desk.

The murder board is covered in pictures, printouts, and at least three people's handwriting. The upper left corner holds DMV photos of a half dozen white women with dark hair under the heading VICTIMS, and Sharon suddenly has a very bad feeling about all of this.

It does not go away when Brenda says, "We need your help with an undercover operation."

"Sorry," Sharon says flatly. "FID, not SIS." She sets down her coffee just so she can cross her arms.

"You'll be perfectly safe, Captain," Flynn says. "Julio will be with you."

The snickers coming from every corner of the room seem to be directed at Sanchez rather than her, and Sanchez confirms it when he says, "Like none of you've ever been to a strip club." He pauses for a second. "Well, maybe not _Gabriel_."

"What, like it's a bad thing I don't objectify women?" Gabriel says.

"Gentlemen," Brenda says pointedly, not scolding so much as redirecting their focus. "Since y'all are feeling chatty this morning, maybe one of you could fill Captain Raydor in."

An immediate and uncomfortable silence falls over the room, and the dread Sharon has been feeling increases with each passing second. When it becomes clear Brenda is not going to take over, Tao clears his throat and gets to his feet. He runs a hand down his tie and fiddles nervously with a marker from the dry erase board.

"Every other night for the past two weeks -- well, except for Sundays, actually; we think the suspect could be religiously motivated -- uh, every other night for the past two weeks, someone has been assaulting women in strip club parking lots. Now, none of them have been seriously injured, but they all reported the suspect had a gun and demanded they hand over all their cash. Which they did."

Sharon frowns. "So someone is robbing strippers at gunpoint as they leave work, knowing they're likely to have a substantial amount of cash. What does that have to do with me?"

"They're not strippers, ma'am," Sanchez says.

"They're patrons." Tao moves to the board and rests his hand in the middle of the victims' photos. "White women with dark hair, and, uh--" he cringes -- "over fifty?"

Sharon doesn't really _need_ this job. She could go up to the tenth floor, dump her badge and gun on Delk's desk, and quite happily never set foot inside PAB again. Over fifty isn't too old to start a new career.

Instead, she grits her teeth. "And this is a major crime how?"

"We thought it could be a hate crime."

Sharon raises her eyebrows. "Against white women?"

Tao looks uncomfortable again, actually glances at Brenda for help, but doesn't get any. "Against lesbians."

"Right." She really should have put that one together, she realizes. It's particularly embarrassing in a room full of the best detectives in the world. She tries to make up for it with a question that could pass for a helpful suggestion. "And there is a reason Chief Johnson couldn't wear a wig?"

Brenda, who Sharon knows perfectly well is staring down forty-five with something less than aplomb, glares daggers. "Well, Captain, as you can see, Lieutenant Provenza is on vacation, and--"

"She didn't want to leave me in charge," Andy interrupts with a smirk, clearly more amused than wounded, and Sharon has to admit it's probably the right call. His plan would no doubt start with the word "dirtbag" and end with all of FID involved.

Sharon sighs and makes one last ditch attempt to get out of this. "It looks like there are multiple locations on the board. Do we even know where our robber-slash-assailant intends to strike?"

"It's called Sultry Dolls, ma'am," Sanchez says. "It's by the airport. Small place, secluded parking lot, lots of noise and not a lot of regulars." 

"Except Julio," Flynn says.

"Oh, you'd like it, sir," Sanchez says earnestly. "One of the dancers looks like your ex-wife."

Tao and Gabriel both _ooh_ ; even Sharon suppresses a laugh. She misses this sort of camaraderie. She loves her team, but the atmosphere in Internal Affairs is much more subdued, and the humor frequently gallows.

"That's funny," Flynn says, maybe a little closer to threatening than teasing, "because I heard the one you like--"

"Gentlemen!" Brenda stomps her foot, but without her shoes, it doesn't have much effect. "I know y'all are tired, but can we please finish briefing the captain? Then I promise y'all can go home for a few hours."

"Let me see if I can move this along," Sharon says. "Detective Sanchez and I go to Sultry Dolls, I get a lap dance from Lieutenant Flynn's ex-wife --" _ooh's_ all around, and even a laugh from the chief -- "and when I leave, the suspect follows me and your team subdues him using minimal force. Do I have that correct?"

"Sounds like she's got it, Chief," Flynn says.

"It does indeed, Lieutenant." Brenda gives Sharon a quick smile and says, "All right. Captain Raydor, you can head back down to FID; my team, go home and get some sleep. We meet back here at seven-thirty. Thank you."

The detectives all make sounds of relief, and as they pack up, Brenda approaches Sharon. 

"We don't really know this is a hate crime," Brenda confides. She leans a hip against the desk. "Taylor came in here last night, talking about how Robbery-Homicide had this case and they were gonna use you as bait. I don't know what kind of relationship you have with 'em, so I floated the hate crime theory to Will so he'd give Major Crimes the case. Figured you had my back with that promotion nonsense, least I could do was have yours."

Sharon glances down and tries not to smile when she sees Brenda's toenails are painted pink. "Well," she says, sliding off the desk, "thank you for the professional courtesy, Chief. See you at seven-thirty."

-

It's nine o'clock by the time they roll out, and well after ten by the time Sharon walks into the club, LAPD cash in her purse and a wire running up the back of her shirt. Her first stop is the bar, where she has a good view of the door, and she scans the room while she waits for her drink.

The place is small and doesn't have much of a crowd -- a few middle-aged men in ill-fitting suits, like they came straight from work, and three boys who must have used fake IDs to get in. There's a small party of twenty-somethings, both men and women, occupying a cluster of tables, and then Sanchez at the other end of the bar.

He tilts his glass toward her in acknowledgement, and Sharon quickly looks away.

"Julio's harmless," the bartender says, sliding Sharon her beer. She leans forward, hands on the bar, making sure Sharon has a good view down her top. "Though I think he's a cop."

Sharon tries very hard to keep a straight face when, at that second, Brenda's voice comes through her earpiece, warning that someone who fits the suspect's description is on the way in.

Biting her lip, Sharon looks down at Sanchez to make sure he heard. When he nods, she turns back to the bartender and hands her a tip. "What makes you think that?"

"He caught some asshole stealing tips off the stage one night, said if he didn't put it back, he'd arrest him right after he finished beating the hell out of him." The bartender shrugs and tucks her tip into her bra. "So maybe not harmless, but he's all right."

Sharon laughs and glances at Sanchez once more. Truth be told, there's no one, not even her own division, she'd rather have watching her back.

"I'll keep that in mind," she says to the bartender, getting down from her stool and glancing quickly at the door. It's dark enough in the club that Sharon has to trust the man who just came in is their suspect; in the quick strobes of colorful lights, she can't make out much more than his general shape.

She runs a hand through her hair before walking toward the stage. The song is just ending and the department is paying, so she leaves a sizable tip on the stage before finding a seat on the far side of the room. She can watch their suspect and make sure to pass him when she leaves. 

It's just a small stage with a single pole, but the dancer is good. She's all lean muscle and long limbs, and she doesn't make it look easy; it's clear what she's doing takes practice and skill.

Sharon would love to watch, but she has a job to do. She scans the room for their suspect. He's seated on the other side of the stage now, between her and the door, and she feels her heart speed up. She wishes she had her gun.

She jumps when a voice beside her asks if she'd like a dance.

Sharon puts on a smile and turns toward the woman. "I'd love one. How much?" If anyone asks, it's about making sure she has their suspect's attention, not about the woman's pretty smile and soft curves, barely covered by tiny green shorts and a matching bra.

"Twenty," she says, sweeping her long, dark curls over a tan shoulder. She towers over Sharon in her platform boots.

"A lap dance, Captain?" Brenda asks in her ear, and Sharon can _feel_ Sanchez's head snap around. It takes everything she has not to smile and wave.

"I'm Jesse," the woman says, running her hand across Sharon's shoulders as she circles the chair.

"Sharon." If she stutters, it's because Jesse's hands are already sliding up her thighs.

"Nice to meet you, Sharon." Jesse's smile goes from pretty to wicked before she slips her hands between Sharon's knees and spreads her legs wide.

Sharon's body aches with the baseline as Jesse moves, and by the time Jesse straddles her lap and slides her hands into her hair, she knows she's accomplishing her goal.

"Detective Sanchez," Brenda's honeyed voice says in her earpiece, "I can see exactly what you're seein', and maybe it's time you turn around."

He doesn't say a word, but Sharon can still hear Sanchez's mumbled, "Sorry, Chief," perfectly in her mind.

The song ends much too soon, and Sharon knows she can't justify another dance, so she tips a hundred percent and watches Jesse walk away.

She allows herself a small sip of beer -- a light lager she doesn't particularly like, ordered specifically so she wouldn't drink it -- and makes eye contact with Julio, still watching from the bar. He winks and Sharon blushes, but she has the attention she wanted, so it's time to make her move.

She makes sure to pass their suspect on her way to the door, and when she steps outside, she starts to rummage through her purse. There's nothing she needs except the gun she doesn't have, but she wants the suspect to think she's an easy target.

"Suspect coming up behind you," Brenda says in her ear, and it takes everything for Sharon not to stiffen. She can hear his footsteps and she takes a steadying breath right before he grabs her by the arm.

Brenda's team bursts out of the shadows, yelling, "Police!" as they come from between parked cars, but the suspect is already in motion, drawing back his arm as he spins Sharon around.

Like hell is Sharon taking a punch. She catches his wrist, turns, and slams her hip into his. He makes a satisfying _oof_ even before she tosses him to the ground.

She drops down after him, planting a knee on his abdomen to hold him down. "You are under arrest," Sharon informs him as Flynn, Tao, and Gabriel descend. With the four of them, it's almost easy to get their suspect face down and securely cuffed.

"You all right, Captain?" Flynn asks as he hauls the grimacing suspect to his feet.

Sharon brushes her hair back from where it's clinging to her face. "Fine, Lieutenant, thank you." She pushes up her glasses. "Everyone else?"

The detectives make affirmative sounds. Behind them, heavy footsteps come running from the direction of the club.

"Aw, man," Sanchez says, "I missed all the fun."

"Dude," Flynn says, "you just got paid overtime to sit in a strip club."

"Yeah, but I'm not the one who got a lap dance."

Sharon's face gets warm and she pushes her tongue into her cheek to stop an embarrassed smile. "Enough chatter," she says with her captain's voice. "Let's get this gentleman downtown."

-

Their little caravan of unmarked cars is barely out of the parking lot when the suspect starts whining. "Isn't this entrapment or something?" he asks, and Sharon's eye starts to twitch as he and Flynn argue with increasing volume.

Flynn's driving gets worse the more he yells, and Sharon presses a finger to the corner of her eye as she rues her decision to ride with him. She'd felt that one of the two highest ranking officers on the operation should stay with the suspect; she should have known it was a bad idea when Brenda had so graciously suggested she do it.

Her eye has stopped twitching by the time PAB comes into view. Unfortunately, that is also when the suspect decides his entrapment argument is a lost cause. "Yo, my wrist hurts," he declares.

"Your ass is going to hurt when I shove my foot up it," Flynn growls.

"No," the suspect -- Smith, he said his name was, Jeremy Smith -- says, "I mean it really, really hurts. Yeah. Bitch, you broke my wrist!"

"I did _not_ ," Sharon says, turning around as quickly as her seatbelt will let her. Flynn is snickering next to her, and she turns her ire back to him. "This is not funny, Lieutenant."

"It's pretty funny," he says. He hits the turn signal and takes the next left. St. Vincent's or Good Samaritan, then. "You know, dirtbag, this isn't going to work like you had in mind. That bitch? She's the head of Force Investigation."

"Oh yeah?" the suspect says. "What's that mean?"

God, Sharon thinks, it really is true they don't catch the smart ones. "It means I'm the person who decides if officers were justified in breaking wrists."

In reality, it means she is going to have the world's biggest headache if anything shows up on Mr. Supposedly Smith's x-rays, but she plans on keeping that information to herself.

"So how 'bout it, pal," Flynn says. "You still sure your wrist hurts?"

He hesitates. Then he says, "Yeah. Yeah, and you know what? My shoulder, too."

Sharon groans and leans her head back against the seat.

-

It takes two hours, a Tylenol, and four cups of coffee between them to find out there's not a damn thing wrong with the suspect, and another thirty minutes to make it from the door of the hospital to the ninth floor of PAB.

Sharon deposits him in an interview room and says, "Have fun," to Brenda as they pass in the hall. Then she goes to get another cup of coffee before making herself at home in the chief's office with her share of the paperwork.

She finishes it all -- coffee, paperwork, and a little bag of pretzels she finds shoved to the back of the candy drawer -- before Brenda comes in, looking almost as exhausted as Sharon feels. She pulls the elastic out of her blonde hair and fluffs it with her hand.

"You're still here."

Sharon hums as she stretches, arms out in front of her and fingers interlocked. "I figured you'd want to debrief me. Or at least tell me how your interview went."

Brenda crosses the room and sits on the corner of her desk. "Well, he did it. All of 'em, plus a few we didn't know about."

"Thank God," Sharon says, but for purely selfish reasons. "And the hate crime angle?"

"No dice. I tried to take him down that road, and he said, no, ma'am, he'd never, because lesbians could beat him up." 

Sharon's sudden laugh is half snort, and it surprises her so much she laughs even harder. "I'm sorry," she says, wiping a tear from her eye, "but did you tell him?"

"Oh, I wanted to." She hooks a foot under the seat of Sharon's chair and wheels it in close. "I really, really wanted to." 

Smiling, Brenda leans down and kisses Sharon gently. 

"Now," she says, "about that debriefing..."


End file.
